Crossfire
by Megan Liberty
Summary: Six months later, there was a shootout on a train, in the Netherlands. Eighteen hours after that, Michael Westen received a phone call.
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: I do not own Burn Notice. All characters, plot lines, and other trademarks regarding Burn Notice are property of Matt Nix and USA Network. I make no monetary gain from my writing involving the aforementioned series.

Prelude.

Well, this was interesting. Fiona Glenanne looked sideways through her hair, halfway through her thirty-fourth sit-up. Agent Pearce had been standing, leaning against the bars of the cell across from her, watching her carefully for about the last ten minutes. Fi pressed on with her routine, knowing she had another hundred sit-ups to go at least, and then she would practice some yoga to clear her mind and help her sanity. At least, that's what she would tell herself, while effectively shredding a few hours of her newly drab lifestyle.

"Miss Glenanne," Pierce finally ground out, three and a half minutes later. "I need to speak with you."

A snort escaped the prisoner. "Ha. You know, I've been here for three months now, God only knows what Anson Fullerton is up to, and no one bothered to fill me in on if Michael actually did what I intended for him to do and told your people what the hell has been going on!" The end of this outburst became louder than the beginning, and more punctuated. "And now," She continued, pointing accusingly at the agent across from her, "_You_ want to talk to _me_, because either you don't think Michael's telling the truth, or you have nothing left to go on."

Danielle pierce shifted slightly. She was good, Dani would give her that. But this wasn't about who was right or wrong right now. She had a job to do. "The agency wants to debrief you," She phrased carefully.

"Bullshit."

"Call it what you want, and quite frankly I'm not thrilled about this arrangement either." Pierce paused. "But we know you didn't do what you surrendered for, and we're working with the British to sweep it under the rug so you can go."

The Irish woman's breath caught. "Y-you're going to let me go?"

"It isn't up to me," Dani countered with a shake of her head. "I know Raines, and he's going to expect something in return for this leap of faith. We all know why you surrendered, and to be honest, for someone who is so adamantly against The Agency, you keep sending him back to us, trying to get in."

"Michael is a a stubborn man. When he wants something, there is nothing you can do to keep him from it."

Danielle Pearce smirked. That much she had learned to be true. She motioned to the guard, who unlocked the cell, but placed both handcuffs and ankle chains to the smaller woman.

Together, they walked slowly toward the ward's exit, where Pierce produced a bag for her prisoner's head.

"You can't be serious." If it weren't for the cuffs, Fiona's hands would be at her hips, though the incredulous look on her face couldn't be missed.

"I am." Pearce carefully placed the bag over Fi's head. "You're still considered an international threat, and a terrorist. It's just for right now." Dani took a firm, but non-painful grip onto Fi's elbow, and guided her to the outside.

Bag on her head or not, Fiona couldn't deny how great being in the sun was, even if the climate told her she was definitely not in Miami.

**OOOOOOOOO**

_Six months later..._

Six months later, Fiona Glenanne was in the Netherlands.

Six weeks later there was a shootout, on a train, in the Netherlands.

Eighteen hours after that, Michael Westen received a phone call.

"Yeah."

"_Michael. It's Raines."_

"Yeah?"

"_I'm calling off our meeting today. Is Axe there?"_

There was a distinct pause, followed by a slight bit of feedback. Raines could tell Michael was speaking to the man in question.

"Why?"

"_Put Axe on."_

Another pause, then the breathing on the opposite end changed, getting a touch heavier.

"Ye-ah?"

"_I've got bad news, and I think you need to be the one to tell him this."_

Sam's face changed, and instantly Michael's eyes met his. Sam put a hand up, and his eyes hardened, eyebrows knit closer together. Focused.

"Well, spit it out, we don't got all day!"

Knowing his buddy's hearing would pick it up anyway, Sam hit the speaker button on the phone at the last second.

Raines sighed. _"Fiona Glenanne is dead."_

The cell phone fell to the floor, and it was all Sam could do to grab is pal Mikey before he hit the floor, too.


	2. One

One.

Michael Westen sat on the edge of his bed, his eyes directed toward the sunrise. A cool breeze came through the room, rustling his longer than usual hair, and making the skin on his face and chin tighten, the hair there gruff from a week of not shaving.

His eyes were bloodshot. Not from lack of drinking though, he mused, although he wished it had been.

Not that it would've made him feel better.

_In this business, sacrifices have to be made. And if you aren't willing to budge a little, it always hurts more in the end._

In his hands was a file.

"_We were transporting her to an international prision, in the Netherlands," Raines explained slowly, his voice hushed and his posture slouched. From his point of view, Michael's handler recognized denial. "I'm sorry I have to do this," he continues, meeting Michael's eyes, which are bloodshot, but enraged. "But I need someone to look at these photos. See if we can figure out who did this and why."_

_A file is produced from under the table, and pushed to Michael's side of the small table. He looks at his handler with a question, and begins to flip the cover back on the file._

_Raines's hand comes down on the file hard. "Michael."_

"_Hm?"_

"_Don't open it here. I flew out there myself, to process the scene. Agent Pierce is out there, with the body. She sends her condolences. As do I."_

_Michael's eyebrows went from being furrowed together, to looking down at the file under Raines's hand. Tears welled in his eyes for a moment before they hardened into a look the handler hadn't seen in nearly a decade._

_This was the rage everyone said she contained, huh? One look at him in this state, and it wouldn't be a far cry to believe that nonsense that got him burned._

"_Do you have any leads?" The statement was ground out, at barely a whisper._

"_The obvious ones." the CIA agent leaned back and sighed._

_Michael leaned back too. "Anson?"_

"_Will most likely claim responsibility if he resurfaces."_

"_I'll kill whoever did this."_

_Raines looks around the Carlito, then leans in, speaking softly. "If someone killed my wife, I'd feel the same way. I'm sorry Michael. If we catch him, you can have the first crack at him."_

"_Save it." In that moment, Raines realizes that he may have made a mistake. He just opened a very large can of worms. Michael was practically shaking in anger. "Is there any way it couldn't have been her?"_

_A sigh from across the table. "The pictures don't lie Michael." Raines stands. "Take all the time you need. We'll be in touch."_

"_If someone killed Fiona, what makes you think they won't do something else?" Michael's hands had the file in a vice grip. "Time is of the essence, Raines."_

"_So is time to grieve. This will interfere with your work," He presses._

_Michael sat up so fast, the chair behind him hit the bar's concrete floor with a loud bang. "I'll grieve when I know she's dead, and when I kill the bastard who hurt her."_

_Thankfully, Westen had the presence of mind to whisper the last part in an intense whisper._

Michael flipped the file's cover back. This was ridiculous. He hadn't been able to sleep, but he hadn't been able to look at that file either. If she was dead-

If she was dead, it would destroy him.

The opening of the door interrupted his thoughts. "Hey Brother," Sam said, a case of beer under one arm, and a bag with two take-out containers in the other.

"It's a little early for you, isn't it Sam?" his voice is soft, with that gentle chime that he only uses for friends and family.

Sam cleared his voice. The sadness in his pal's tone was so palpable, he could feel it. "Nah. Deep down, I still run on a military clock. O'four hundred, and I'm lying in bed waiting for the sun. O'five hundred if I went to bed late."

Michael's lips twitch into a small smile for a second. If he'd been feeling normal, he would've probably corrected his older friend, who insisted that meetings before eight-am were taboo.

But he was a good friend, and for all Michael never said, he always knew his friends were his most valuable assets. At least, now he was learning that. It had taken a while, but with Fiona's actions, and Jesse and Sam's unwavering support and friendship in the aftermath of her surrender, he was really starting to see all that his woman meant when she said he had a lot going for him.

How was it that she had been right, all along? And why couldn't she have just beat the logic into him, as she had so many years ago?

As much as part of him really cared about, and probably returned the love had officially professed to him, part of him was so fucking angry at her. This was not her battle. And it wasn't her fault. And turning herself in? He talked to The Agency. And what got done about it?

Absolutely _nothing_.

Sam set the gifts he'd brought on the table. "Sam, I think you bought one breakfast too many."

"Nah, brother, Jesse's coming too."

And on cue, Jesse strolls through the door, dressed in jeans and a too-tight shirt. "Gentlemen," He acknowledges slowly.

"Come on," Sam says, motioning them both to the counter in Michael's kitchen. "Before it gets cold."

They eat, and although Michael finishes everything Sam's brought him, it's the look in his eyes that have Sam and Jesse having their own private conversation in glances that Michael doesn't speak up about, if he notices. Then, he takes a beer and washes the meal down, and Jesse's eyebrows go up, to Sam's look of concern. Michael could hold his own, but not even Sam was drinking with his breakfast. It was unusual. And while Mikey was unique in his own ways, things like these raised warning signs. Especially when it's rumoured that his girl's been run down in another country.

Once the take-out containers make it into the garbage, Michael picks up the file and drops it onto the table. It's significantly thick, but both men who haven't seen it know what it is before Michael opens it.

That thickness is from pictures.

"I guess Raines is trying to provide me with closure. While getting me to do his job," Mike spits out, his voice bitter.

Jesse looks down at the file. "He gave you the file Fi?"

"Everything regarding her so-called death."

"Have you opened it?" Sam asks softly, drawing the attention of Michael and Jesse.

"You told me to wait," Michael says with a sigh, and Jesse recognizes the reason while Sam takes the file from both of them.

He takes a step toward the balcony. "Want us to do it?"

"What?"

"Mike, this can't be easy for you," Jesse intervenes, while Sam's standing in the doorway between the loft and it's balcony. "Sam and I can go over it, and fill you in." Jesse looks to Sam, whose back is to them both. "I'm sure the CIA is just trying to cover it up to keep you from going after her. This is probably all just a big misunderstanding."

"Mike," Sam turns around and regards him with weary eyes. "Does Fi have a tattoo on her right foot, toward her little toe?"

"Yeah."

"It's a common tattoo," Jesse says carefully, trying to be the positive voice in the situation.

Sam comes back and walks past both men, settling on the bed carefully. For the first time, the other two men come closer. Sam pulls out the thick stack of pictures, and the reports they're attached to, and Michael knows he has to do this with them.

All together and one photo at a time, they begin to piece together the situation.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

She squirms under the lights, arching her back and feeling the pain that comes with bucking her hips, trying to get out of the restraints she's in.

"Turn the light off!" An authoritative voice shouts, and it becomes dark. The voice changes, becoming softer. "Come on, open your eyes."

She listens, and slowly, but surely, eyes flutter open and refocus. A steely blue-green meets brown, and one pale hand squeezes a tanned one.

"What do you remember?"

Pushing herself up and regarding her situation, she knows exactly where she is and how she got here. It only takes clearing her throat once to speak clearly.

"Everything."

A moment passes between them, regarding each other in silence. "What happened to you?" A small gesture, from the woman in the bed, to the bandage on the other's right shoulder.

"Baretta. Nine mil. Caught me on the right side. Broke my clavicle." A smirk. "I shot him in the head to say thanks."

A snort is heard from the bed, and the woman relaxes slightly against the back of it, which is propped up to a sitting position. "What happened to me?"

"You were shot." A look that said 'no-shit' was met with a loaded brown eyed gaze. "Eight times. Punctured a lung, broke a few ribs, wrecked your spleen, all the usual that happens when you're shot multiple times. I wouldn't expect to have any children, they took those parts too."

She sighs and hits the nurse button.

"And those passengers?"

As a nurse hits the doorway, Danielle Pearce smirks and shakes her head.

"Not even a brush burn."

Both women exchange smiles and a small laugh before a fully fledged medical team comes and Dani is swept from the room.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

_When you're a spy, you're used to seeing gory crime scenes and battered bodies. But none of that prepares you for when one of those bodies is one of your own._

"This is heavy," Jesse Porter said, standing up. "I gotta take a break."

From Michael's favorite chair, Sam motions toward the balcony. "Get some fresh air, clear your head." Beside the former seal was a beer. Cap screwed off, bottle completely full. In his hands, a ten page detailed report of a crime scene.

Transporter train, not on any schedule, heading into Amsterdam from The Hague. Halfway though, the train is hijacked by a group of men, according to the reports, and fire is opened upon the prisoners in said train. Five prisoners, including Fiona are dead, but the CIA has obtained evidence from the Netherlands' authorities that it seems all the fire was directed mostly toward her. Three of the five men were killed by the four guards, before the guards were executed. The two others got away.

Sam looks up from over a page, staring at the wall blankly for a moment. This was a lot to process. "This whole thing just seems sloppy."

"None of these pictures even place Fi on the damn train," Michael said. "It could be anyone with bullet holes in them."

Jesse returns from the balcony, taking a few long strides to stand beside Michael in the kitchen, at the counter. He reaches for the stack that Michael has just gone through, when the man beside him's face changes.

"Son of a bitch."

The words come out like they've been spat; And by the time Jesse's fully absorbed what's happening, tears are trailing down Michael's cheeks.

"Whoa man," Jesse says, peering over the shorter Man's shoulder to see what he's looking at. "What the-"

And there it was.

"They tried to save her," Sam interjected, from seemingly out of nowhere. "That's why she's not on the train. They got her out first, and worried about the crime scene later." A pause, with nothing but gruff silence. "Mikey-"

When Sam looked over to his right, the scene was heartbreaking.

"She's gone, Sam," Michael sobbed, meeting his best friend's eyes. Jesse stood beside the burned spy, silent tears spilling down his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut as tightly as possible.

The man being addressed was at their side in a split second. "Bring it in, guys," Both Jesse and Michael looked at their friend in disbelief, but now wasn't the time to argue. The three men shared a tight, but not awkward hug, both Jesse and Michael failing to bite back sobs at some point in the embrace.

It wasn't until both men put their heads down and really cried that Sam could see the picture on the counter that caused this outburst.

There was no way Fiona could've survived the trauma she sustained, Sam realized, bile rising in his throat. In this picture, unlike the others, her entire body was shown, private areas covered by well placed sheets that were stained red. She hadn't been cleaned up yet. Blood was caked over most of the exposed skin, dark and red. Her face was tilted toward the side, eyes half open, but glossy. Her lower abdomen was a battlefield in itself, with six visible holes, two more, up in her right rib area. There were pads on her chest that showed where they had obviously attempted to revive her, without success.

Sam squeezed both men to him a little harder, before releasing them and heading to the bathroom, rather abruptly.

Mike followed him, stopping just outside the rickety steel door when he heard the sound of heaving, and a muffled "Damn it, Fi."

When he emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, Michael was standing before the massive shelf filled with snow globes, holding one in his hand. It had been her favorite, Sam supposed.

A moment later, the snow globe hit the wall as though it had been thrown by a major league pitcher, shattering. Glass and water sprayed across the wall and floor as another and yet another joined it.

"This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen!" Michael finally yelled, his anger and rage getting the better of him as he threw the globes until all of them had been broken into pieces, and he was reduced to sitting on the floor, head in his hands, shaking as the gravity of the situation settled upon him.

She wasn't ever coming back.

_Ever_.

**OOOOOOOOOO**


	3. Two

Two.

There were times, as a human with integrity, that Danielle Pearce sincerely did not know why in the hell she did this job. As she sat here, arguing with Raines via her computer's secure web chat, her mind was racing, wondering how she had been doing this job for this long. Especially without feeling those repercussions.

"I'm telling you, Sir," The lilt of her voice was turning toward the sarcastic, very much unlike the demure tone of voice she saved for her superiors. "You need to call Westen. With wounds like these, they don't think she's going to make it through the night."

Raines's face did not waver. "I already spoke to him, Agent Pearce." His voice was grainy and distorted from the computer's speakers. "And he is not going to be speaking to her."

"What if she dies?" Dani paused. "We've waited a week for her to wake up, she was conscious for all of five minutes, and now they've discovered more bleeding. If she's going to die anyway, why not just send him out here?"

"I knew when I brought you on my team, that you were pushy," Raines sighed and pushed himself back for a moment, picking up a file from the adjacent desk. "When I was there we collected evidence, and took pictures, Agent Pearce. What do you think we took those pictures for?"

She was not a dumb woman. And as Raines flipped through some of the pages of the file, at an angle she could see from her position in front of the laptop's screen, it clicked. "You're going to fake her death."

A smirk. "That's the other reason why I brought you on this team." He flipped the file shut and returned it to it's previous place. "I already have. Death certificate and all."

"But there's no body."

"I don't think that will be the first thing on his mind."

"And what of Fiona? If she dies-"

"She has one of the best medical teams on the planet at her side, and that's all we can do. Believe it or not, Agent Pearce, I don't pull the strings here. We knew what we were sending her into, and what would happen."

Dani rubbed her injured shoulder absentmindedly, her face turning to anger. "So what you're saying is that you knew?" The look on her face screamed betrayal now. Raines sighed in response.

"This isn't a game, Agent Pierce."

"I was about to tell you the same thing, Sir." The snap he received in response proved his theory that Fiona Glennane's personality may very well be contagious among women.

Raines was silent for a moment as he worded his answer. "Danielle," he said, his voice taking on a tone he very rarely used – not a superior's voice, but a fellow man - "If I told you I was thrilled about this plan, I'd be lying. I could tell you the Agency bullshit about friendly casualties, but someone above both of our heads approved this, knowing what was going to happen. If she doesn't die, it will be a miracle, but she knew, from the moment we let her out, that something like this would be the price for switching sides in the middle of a fight."

"She was always on our side!" The anguish that flickered in Dani's eyes was reflected by the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. "She and Westen made mistakes, but so does everyone else."

"Get a hold of your self, Pearce!" Raines looked infuriated. "Do you think I want to see Glennane die? Because I don't. The agency thinks that telling Westen that she's dead will make him fight harder to get Fullerton. You know what I think it will do?"

Dani looked at him, really looked. His eyes were hard, but that steely glint told her something.

"You think he's going to go crazy."

Raines didn't acknowledge or deny. "I think there was a better way to do this, one that involved filling him in. But, if he's going to get that damn burn notice's off his back once and for all, Fiona was going to have to prove her loyalty. People above our heads won't trust him completely until she does."

"What does she have to do with any of this?"

"Have you seen Westen's file? He was sent to win the trust of an IRA terrorist, fifteen years ago. He fell in love with that terrorist. Enter Fiona. That is not going to help him stay in, unless she pulls some through some heroics and switches sides. She was always skeptic of any government. They return the sentiment. Her name comes up in discussions about him, and they wonder if he's going to turn on us."

"She's got to pull through tonight. As for the rest of it, we'll cross the bridge when the time comes."

"Danielle. She knew something like this was going to happen. Just because she didn't know when, didn't mean she didn't know."

"Did she know you were going to tell her boyfriend she was dead?"

Raines shook his head. "She just knew somewhere along the line we planned to prove her loyalty. If she saved herself, without regarding everyone else, we knew what side she was on. She had a route to escape that shooting."

"She wasn't going to let innocent people die!"

"No. And she wasn't going to let you die, either. That's why she pushed you to the side when the agents aimed for you."

Danielle slammed the laptop shut, effectively ending their com-link, and put her head in her hands. She knew the CIA was a dirty business, every agency had its gray area. But these people were known targets of their most-wanted man. Sacrificing Fiona Glennane as tribute to restoring Michael Westen's standing with his country was a price Michael was not willing to pay.

Unfortunately, Fiona was, and here they were.

A loud beeping interrupted her thoughts. She looked up at the hospital bed in front of her, at the woman whose piercing eyes caught hers. Weak hands came up to rip the NG tube out of her nose. Dani stole a look at the clock beside the bed. Four in the morning. Well, guess Glennane did plan on making it through the night.

Nurses rushed into the room, beginning to fuss, prodding at their patient, until said patient intervened. "I 'preciate what ya gohta do'," she hummed in an Irish accent that was by far noticed by everyone, "But I need ta talk wit' the agent. Fuss wi' me aftar, okay?"

"We're almost done," A blonde nurse replied, "But it's nice to see you awake, Miss Glennane. You gave us quite a scare. I'll be back in a few minutes with your pain medication."

A curt shake of the head surprised the nurse. "Nah more meds for thah, been sleepin' long 'nough." Pushing herself up was like running a marathon, but she got situated, much to the protest from her lower abdomen.

"I thought you said she was American," Another, also blonde nurse whispered to Dani.

Fiona snorted. "I'm still here," She said, dropping her native accent, and the young nurse scurried from the room, tail figuratively between her legs.

Once the rest of the nurses left, Dani moved from the chair across the way to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes drifting once to the door to make sure it was closed. She paused, licking her lips, thinking of what to say.

"I heard enough of that," Fiona whispered to her, figuring that to be enough of the problem.

Dani looked up at her, eyes wide. She had figured, but that didn't make it better. "So you knew this was going to happen?"

Fiona shrugged, looking down at the tube that was still in her side. "Punctured me lung," She hummed in aggravation. "Bastards, tha whole lot of em." Looking up, she sighed. "The Agency is a dirty thing, Dani. I'm not proud of some of the things I've done. But I would never serve up an ally on a silver platter."

"They were agents." Fiona nodded. "That shot you. I mean, we sent our own, and look what we got."

"Your own, Agent Pearce. I'll nevar be an agen'."

Danielle Pearce looked at her with teary eyes. "Thank you for saving me."

A small nod, and Fiona reached out her hand. "Those two, from the train." She squeezed Dani's larger hand. "Those two were sent to their death for betraying the agency. Whoever commissioned the hit knew I'd probably kill both of them, at the cost of my life. The Agency knows my past, but that isn't all I am anymore. Michael did change me, a little."

"What do we do now?"

"Once I get outta this joint," Fiona began, settling into her pillows, "We're going after Anson."

"You think this will draw him out?"

Fiona smirked. "Raines told Michael I'm dead. Did he blame it on Anson?"

"I don't know."

"If I was him, I would." Fiona pulled off her pulse-ox, the clip on her right ring finger. Another beep occurred, then silenced after a moment. "Michael is dangerous when he's angry without a cause. They need an objective to keep him focused." She paused. "But they had better be careful. He won't care at what cost he gets what he's after. He won't care about the agency, or their policies or prcedures."

"But isn't that why you let them do this to you?"

"Yes and no." She grimaced as a muscle in her stomach region rippled in pain. "I did know they would probably do something to test my loyalty, like Raines said. I thought they would've at least told you so you wouldn't end up with any souvineers." Fiona motioned to her friend's wrapped shoulder. "Apparently they didn't. If the cost for getting Anson gone for good is for me to be six feet under, I'd do it. Michael deserves some peace. He's a good man."

"He's not going to find peace knowing you're dead. He obviously loves you."

Fiona's eyes caught fire at Agent Pearce's statement.

"Obviously I return the sentiment. And he knows, I do. He'll find peace eventually. And as soon as all this is all resolved, I'm going to threaten to blow up your director until he allows Michael to know what really happened to me."

"And if they don't?"

"I guess you'll get to find out how many CIA directors they can go through before they give little ole me what I want." Both woman laughed.

"To answer your question, Dani," Fiona said, effectively silencing their laughter, "My first instinct was not to let you, or anyone else die because some suit and tie needs some evidence of which side I'm on. My second instinct was to make sure I survive long enough to help get Michael out of this nonsense with Anson and the people who burned him for good. At any cost. I don't care how I look to you, or anyone else in some organization. I'll be judged by God alone. And when that day comes, I'll stand by everything I've ever done."

As Fiona's eyes drifted shut, Danielle Pearce had a sneaking suspicion that her days in the CIA were numbered.

OOOOOOOOOO

Meanwhile, across the ocean, a man stood outside the loft, a smirk on his face. His trench coat collar was popped up, around his face, and hat concealed his hear. He spared a final glance at the one light on in the apartment, and a chuckle escaped his laugh.

Oh, if only he could see Michael's face when he saw the present he had left the spy.

And The Agency thought they could manipulate their distraught asset to take him down? Anson took the cigarette that was between his lips, dropped it on the ground and used his heel to put it out. They obviously underestimated him.

What fools.


End file.
